Resto Sonata
by AliveForLife
Summary: What happens to a soul when Alma's rage displaces most of it? A tragic tale of a remnant. Meet Mr. Price, your music teacher.
1. Part 1

**Resto Sonata**

**A Remnant's Story **

**Da niente**

He stood, listening, as the children's voices filled the halls: laughter, young ringing voices, full of joy and life. They ran all around, a powerful stream of their little beings flowing around his tall figure.

He smiled, looking down at them. They were so eager to learn, so ready to know something new. Full of questions and impossibly funny remarks about the things they saw every day. Their observations were often spot on, simple and naive, leaving him questioning the validity of the adult world. Were the adults truly so knowledgeable and experienced as was commonly assumed? Someone once said, that when you look into a child's eyes, you see God.

He frowned, as his hearing singled out a tune in the music of the children's voices. It was a sad G minor, a lonely and quiet tone. It was coming from the stairs, so he moved there, following the melody.

Cautiously, so as not to loose it, he walked towards it. Children moved on all sides of him, running up and down the stairs, oblivious to his purpose. They had their own goals in life, to grow and learn. They were cheerful. There was one child, who wasn't. Sadly, it was not the first time.

He was now following a soft strumming of a guitar, although he could swear it was a simple piano tune just a few seconds ago. He paused, checking his senses, to make sure his mind was not playing tricks with him. No, it was still there. The voice was very young; the song was calm, but very sad, as if the singer had accepted some grim fate. Not right. Children should be happy. Most of the time at least.

On top of the stairs he paused to listen, to make sure he didn't loose his bearing. The singing was closer now and he continued down the hall. It was a little quieter here, as most students have already ran outside, into the courtyard, or bunched up into the cafeteria. He smiled, as he imagined them sitting together, sharing their secrets.

The singing lead him right at the turn and he came to a door, where he could hear the singing clearly. Yet again it changed form and for a moment he was afraid he'd gone the wrong way, away from the sad child who needed comforting and maybe help. He realized he was now hearing a girl singing the same tune and thought he even heard some words, yet they were unclear. Judging by her voice she was no more than eight, and he wondered what she was doing in this part of school.

He turned around to look at the T-junction. Where a flock of tiny students had just been circling around their teacher, there now was no one to be seen. A skipping rope lay forgotten near the drinking fountain. It was very quiet.

He tried the door and it opened inwards, into the pitch black of the room. He took a step back, reflexively, as if the darkness lounged at him. The light from the corridor seemed to disappear in the room, dissipating into nothingness.

"Come on now, you're not eight anymore", he said to himself and stepped in.

It was dark inside, and he wondered why there was no light coming from the windows. He felt for the switch on the wall and flipped it. Nothing happened. He opened the door wider and showed a door stopper under it.

In the light of the corridor's lamps he managed to make out shapes of shelves and desks. It looked like an unused classroom appropriated as a store room.

"Hello?" his voice drowned in the velvet black, just as the light seemed to. "It's Mr. Price, your music teacher. Is someone here?"

The singing continued, uninterrupted. He turned his head, trying to pinpoint the direction it was coming from. It seemed to emanate from all sides at once.

"Must be some weird acoustic paneling here", he thought. He fumbled in his vest, searching for a pocket flashlight. He always carried one, along with a piece of string and some loose change. "In case I will need to establish contact with an extraterrestrial", he used to joke. "What if they just want to eat you?" someone would always reply. He chuckled weekly to himself, as his imagination drew up tentacled, drooling monsters, that lured him here with the singing and now waited in the dark. Such ill-serving fantasies seldom boosted courage and so he chased them away, before stepping outside the lit area, into the darkness.

"Okay, I'm going in now. Stay where you are, I'll find you." He cautiously walked along the wall, cursing under his breath.

"You know, it's dangerous here. You shouldn't be playing here, you could..." he grunted as he walked hard into a desk. "...Get hurt in the dark", he finished with a groan as he doubled over, wondering how it was accomplished with a flashlight in hand.

As he straightened out, he threw a glance over his shoulder and regretted it. The lit rectangle of the doorway had shrunk in size, bordered by the solid, impenetrable darkness. Immediately, he felt panic sweeping him, overcoming him, cocooning him in a web of childhood fears and night terrors. He felt scared now, like when he was thirty years ago, in that dusty, dark attic.

He had found his way under the roof of their newly bought home and froze in fear just as he made it to the middle. He stood for an eternity, staring at the solitary small window under the roof, afraid to avert his gaze from the stars and see something horrible creeping up to him. He could hear his parents and their guests laughing somewhere below him, but couldn't bring himself to call for help. It was stupid, he assured himself, there were no monsters. He would just turn back and walk down and sip some of that tasty punch, that his mom had just cooked, and play with the dog and listen to the boring adult stories of their youth.

The next thing he remembered was sitting below the trap door, panting, his eyes fixed on the dark square above him. He won that time, he would win again.

Shuddering, he wiped beads of sweat from the forehead, forcing the hammering of blood in his ears to subside. Somewhere in the dark a sad little girl was all alone, and he had to find her, and bring her down to the cafeteria.

He turned to continue walking, the circle of his flashlight offering some sanctuary. It fished out familiar, recognizable shapes: a couple of chairs, a bunch of desks, a bin of toys. He walked only a few steps further when his light caught a figure of a little girl, who sat crouched by the wall, with her hands wrapped around her legs. Her head was down, black hair flowing down around her shoulders.

"There you are", he spoke softly. "It's okay, come on now. Let's walk down and have some punch." He smiled and stretched out his hand. "What do you say, kiddo?"

"How about we got where there is a bit more light", he thought but did not say outloud.

She raised her head with a snap and the quiet singing abruptly ended. He felt a gust of wind on his back, and as he turned around he gasped in terror. The bright rectangle of the doorway rushed away, overcome on all sides by a wall of dark void. The wall approached him at a disheartening pace, knocked him on his back; his flashlight fell and disappeared into the darkness.

The little girl stood above him, her hair floating in the air. He stared into the shadow pits that contained her eyes, mesmerized, too terrified to look away.

She leaned down and whispered in a low, hushed voice, as if continuing her song.

"Why did you fall down?"


	2. Part 2

**Crescendo**

He stood in the darkness for a while, swaying from side to side, listening to the silence around him. He tried to catch the children's music, but heard nothing. He couldn't remember what he was doing here, forgot who he was. Sadness filled him, inextinguishable and relentless, it was the only thing that stayed with him, all else dissipating into the dark of the hall.

Startled by something, he shook up. He thought he heard something. His head lifted, dead eyes stared into one spot blindly, his whole being committed to listening. Nothing.

What was it that he did before all this? It was too quiet...He was used to loud noises. Laughter, crying, arguing... A trio in the corner whispering, exchanging playing cards... Sounds of the ball bouncing outside, rope whooshing through the air. They're skipping rope. They're also skipping classes. So young, so inventive already. So gifted.

He smelled the air, listened to the stillness. They're still here, somewhere, even though he couldn't see them. Some of them are still here.

He heard something again. A faint, solitary note pierced the silence, bringing him to life. He followed it, shuffling his feet along the floor. It was there somewhere, he just had to find it! It sounded so familiar, so painfully native to his memory. Another memory, another part of him brought to life, yet he was not complete yet.

He walked into the room, and hope left him. There was nothing. There was no one there, just instruments, furniture, and music sheets.

Something that floated in the air sparked his memory. He stared at the board blankly, remembering something. Another memory, from far away.

He grabbed a piece of chalk and pushed it against the surface, drawing awkwardly. After he was done, he stepped away to look at his work. It was right, he could play it now.

A piano in the middle of the room came to life, as his disobedient fingers struck at the keys. This was familiar, this was something he did for a very long time, before... Before he was but a fraction of himself.

He played for them, so they could listen. It was a beautiful melody, albeit sad. It was all he could remember.

As he finished playing, a man walked cautiously into the room. He stopped, and the two stared at each other for a second.

A stranger... Why was the stranger here? Why disturb their somber peace? Why bring discord into the harmony of silence. The stranger made sounds, noises that swallowed all else, filling every corner of the world. It would drown out the music of the children, their voices. He would not hear them if they called for help. They would not hear his music. All they wanted to do now is listen and play forever, eternally.

Why was HE here? He has expired, left like flotsam on the surface. What kept him here? He was a fraction, and the stranger was complete. He would take parts of the stranger, make himself whole again. Then he could hear music again.

He would have to sing to wake them up.

He let out a scream.


	3. Part 3

**Morendo**

His voice reverberated through matter, piercing flesh and crushing bone. The echo of his mind penetrated into the hollow of silent souls and brought them to life. Where once their beings were, there would now be music.

The stranger stumbled backwards, as the loud, piercing shriek invaded his mind. It was not only acoustic in nature, for he felt a physical blow to his whole body. Only the wall saved him from being felled by a powerful shock wave of pure hate.

_Bodies started to rise, carriers of those who sought to usurp the silence before. They were empty, shallow, no more than when they were still full of dissonant noises. Their empty husks would serve a purpose yet._

_This was his exposition! The stranger now knew what waited him. He will start with fortissimo and never let it be less than mezze-forte! This was a march, a strong and proud piece. A triumph of the highest order!_

_He brought his hands upwards and threw them before him, sending his troops forward. He then moved behind them, to oversee the battle and conduct his masterpiece from a safer spot._

The stranger, still shocked, watched as the creature staggered out of view. In it's place half a dozen dead men lurched around, searching for weapons. He'd seen this before. The first time he was taken by surprise and nearly died. This time he foolishly managed to let himself get shocked, but was now ready for what was to come. He would need to kill that creature, before it brought more puppets to unnatural existence.

With a short burst, he dropped the closest corpse. He heard a familiar sound – a crack, as if a string had snapped. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a corpse pick up a sub-machine gun and turned to face the threat. They fired almost simultaneously: the stranger into the puppet's head, the puppet into the floor, before he could even bring the gun to waist level. The familiar sound followed. Another corpse rushed past the stranger, going for the shotgun in the corner. The stranger spun in place and send the puppet flying forward, with a few fresh holes in it's head and neck. A snap. Other puppets were out of view, as was the creature. He had to find them fast.

_HE wailed in pain, as the ties snapped, never to be healed. The stranger brought more pain, more discomfort than was anticipated. Those were the strings of his soul that led those who listened, guiding them with music. Every single one that tore, caused him unbearable pain and brought him to his knees. How was this possible? His body was not alive, and his mind was fractioned. How was it then that he felt this pain? He recognized it, even though he never felt it before. He thought he saw a glimpse of something else, knocking on the door of his mind. Something familiar._

_He gritted his teeth and forced his beaten body upright. He would win this battle and be whole again!_

_It was time to repeat his motif, and new puppets rose to replace those fallen._

The stranger kept moving, knowing that the bodies he shot at before would stand up and try to kill him again. They were no longer alive, driven by some unfathomable desire, or maybe even hate. He knew with certainty, that the only way to bring them down would be to completely shatter their bodies. He would have to settle for the next best thing – stop them at the source and kill the puppeteer. He did that once, and it worked. He counted on it to work this time as well.

He dived out of the way, just in time to avoid a lead rain, sent his way by another lifeless soldier. His roll was stopped by a piano, and he returned fire. Bullets went through a tower of loudspeakers and he heard a satisfying thud of a falling body on the other side. Immediately, he trained his weapon on another corpse, that blundered his way through a forest of music stands. This one had no weapon and seemed resolved to reach the stranger and choke him with his bare hands. His march was stopped short by a snap shot to his head.

As he turned around, he saw the creature rushing for cover. He fired a shot that would win him a medal, if this was a shooting tournament. Instead, this was a fight for life, and the shot won him the battle.

_NO! That searing pain, eating at the seat of his existence! Unbearable, so very familiar! He had no memory, he only existed now, in this moment, where harmony had to be reinstated. And yet, every pang of pain brought clarity to him. Somehow..._

_The image of his goal was ablaze in his mind, burning his very being. He had to succeed, he had to become whole. There would be harmony, and he would destroy whatever stood in his way and use the parts to reassemble himself._

_He raised his hands once more, calling forth additional servants with his scream... and was thrown to the side, as the bullets shredded his body._

_Was this his coda?_

The stranger moved his rifle from side to side, dispatching his enemies with calculated efficiency. He knew he was close to firing his last round, having expended most of the magazine in this short battle. He fired another round and let go of his weapon, letting it hang on his chest. There were still rounds in the magazine, but they would not be enough to finish off the remaining opponents. There was no time to reload.

He took out his pistol, brought it to eye level and fired a few rounds, all in a single, flowing motion. Sidestepping between towering equipment racks and columns, he continued his onslaught, minding the number of rounds fired. One of the more agile puppets made his way behind the stranger, and received a fast knife jab in the eye for his troubles.

In a few seconds, the immediate number of undead soldiers was exhausted. The stranger approached the creature, that was now trying to get up, and emptied his pistol into it.

_It was the end! He had lost..._

He tried to get back, but the stranger kicked him and he stumbled on his back.

_No, not yet! He had strength still! He would not fade away!_

The stranger calmly reloaded his pistol and holstered it, before taking hold of his rifle. He fired the remaining rounds into the creature and released the empty magazine. With a 'clank' it fell on the floor littered with empty shells. The stranger scanned the room, alert for any stragglers, and pushed a new magazine into the receiver. He cocked the rifle, flipped the selector to full automatic and fired at the creature, point blank. He would have preferred other means of destroying his target, but he was out of grenades and this did the job last time.

_He could no longer conduct, his mind in chaos, he heard no music. His being pulsated with pain, and it was all he could hear. There was no harmony in it, only chaos._

_In a way, it was a relief._

_For some reason, pain allowed him a moment of peace. He knew he was dead, stuck here at someone else's whim. There was never any hope of becoming whole in a way he sought to accomplish. He could not continue existing so, fractioned, in pieces. He realized, that the only way for him to continue was to let go. He was stranded here, a slave of someone else's hatred, an unwilling puppet, leading puppets of his own. Now, the only way to become complete again was to allow himself to be killed._

_He saw familiar faces: his wife, daughter, parents, brother, his students, friends._

With a final scream, he was gone.

The stranger took a step back, shielding his face from another shockwave. In an explosion of light, sound and wind, the creature was gone. Just like the first time, it left no trace behind. Only bullet holes and empty shells reminded of the battle that took place here moments ago. Even the bodies of the dead soldiers lay still, pretending to have never risen in violation of the laws of life.

Smoke still hung, when the stranger left the room. He played his part here, and his goal was still ahead. His crusade was far from over.


End file.
